


be the lightning in me [that strikes relentless]

by ohmcgee



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s always known Barry Allen could be dangerous, could be his downfall, but this is different. This is everything he wants and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be the lightning in me [that strikes relentless]

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: The Flash (2014), Harrison Wells/Barry Allen, pretending to be drunk

Harrison watches Barry drink with Cisco and Caitlin, finishing up Iris’ eggnog and bringing out another bottle after that. There’s sadness in his eyes and the corners of his mouth and he won’t talk about it, but Harrison has a feeling Barry did a really stupid thing. Perhaps he told her about his secret identity and she took it badly and Harrison spends half the night anxious and worried that she’s going to tell someone and put Barry in danger. 

Or, he thinks, as Barry’s laughter gets increasingly louder and he becomes more tactile with each pull his takes from the bottle he and Cisco and Caitlin are passing around, it might just be that Barry did a stupid thing for a twenty-something in love with his childhood friend and that he’s only hurting. Which is why Harrison doesn’t point out the fact that he knows that Barry’s heightened metabolism shouldn’t allow him to actually get as drunk as he’s acting. He lets him have this, lets him laugh too loud and bright with his friends, leaning on them and confessing things he might never do in the somber, sober hours of daylight. He listens to the three of them sing off-key as he busies himself with work, watches Caitlin twirl Barry around with her fingers, sees Barry fall into Cisco’s lap, and he sips on the wine in the glass on his desk, feeling empty and hollow.

He’s going over reports on the computer on the progress Barry’s been making later, lipstick smudged on his cheek where Caitlin had kissed him goodnight a few minutes earlier, tilts his head back and says goodnight to Cisco when he decides to head home. Then Barry comes over and hops on the edge of his desk, sitting on top of a small stack of file folders Harrison had been flipping through trying to compare notes. 

“You’re on my file,” Harrison says to the computer screen, fingers clicking across the keys. 

“Oops,” Barry says and lifts up one side of his thigh, smirking at him. “My bad.”

Harrison tugs the file folder out from under Barry’s ass and folds his hands in his lap, looks up at Barry with a little quirk in the corner of his mouth. “Enjoying yourself?”

Barry kicks his legs back and forth. “Uh huh,” he grins. His hair is sticking up every which way from having his hands in it so much. His hands, or Cisco’s hands, or Caitlin’s hands…

“I imagine you would have,” Harrison mutters, turning back to the screen in front of him. 

“You should’ve joined us,” Barry says, plucking a paper weight off of Harrison’s desk, tossing it back and forth between his hands. “We had fun.”

“I noticed,” Harrison says and his hand brushes against Barry’s thigh when he reaches for the mouse. Barry must have scooted closer, Harrison realizes then Barry reaches out and grabs his wrist.

“Can’t you stop working for two minutes?” He asks petulantly, lips shaped into a pout. “I’m trying to…”

Harrison leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head, the black knit sweater rising up, flashing a sliver of skin. “Trying to what?” He asks, amusement twisting the corners of his mouth up. 

Barry chews on his bottom lip, staring at the little glimpse of Harrison’s hip and flat stomach, and lifts his socked foot, gently places it in Harrison’s lap, catching his eye as he starts to rub it against his crotch. 

Harrison closes his eyes and his neck rolls back, his shoulders relaxing. “Barry,” he says cautiously, eyes closed, hands squeezing around the arms of the chair. “I know you’re not drunk.”

“Oh good,” Barry says, letting out a little bubble of laughter. “Then I can stop pretending.” He slides off the edge of the desk and pushes Harrison’s chair out from under it, kneeling it front of him. “That does suck though,” he says, hands quickly making work of Harrison’s button and zipper. “Not being able to get drunk. I’ve never even done anything to land me on TFLN.”

“TFLN?” Harrison’s asking, but then the nonsense Barry’s talking no longer matters because Barry’s _mouth_ , his perfect, soft, illogical, irrational mouth is on him, swallowing him down and Harrison is groaning and palming the back of his head. He consciously knows it probably only feels this good because it’s been too long since he’s cared enough to seek this out, too occupied with what has to come next, but Barry’s mouth is _exquisite_ , like liquid velvet, like heaven, and it’s all he can do not to tell him every one of those things, tell him exactly how amazing and ridiculous and important to him he is, tell him _everything._ He’s always known Barry Allen could be dangerous, could be his downfall, but this is different. This is everything he wants and more.

“Barry, god,” he moans when Barry’s hand wraps around him at the base, his mouth still tight around his head. “Your _mouth_ , my god. I’m not going to last much longer.”

Barry pulls off with a wet pop and grins up at him. “Good,” he says and puts his mouth back on him, and with a few more strokes of his hand and a talented flick of his tongue, Harrison’s knuckles are going white around the arms of the chair and he’s gasping, groaning, pouring down Barry’s throat and Barry just _takes_ it, wants whatever Harrison’s giving him, moans around him even when he swallows.

“Jesus christ, Barry,” Harrison mutters and drags him up by his collar, crushing their mouths together. He tastes himself on Barry’s mouth and Barry whimpers against him when he sucks on his tongue. “Stand up,” Harrison says across his mouth, pulling at his hips, so Barry does, albeit on shaky legs, and looks down as Harrison gets his pants open, slides them down off his hips along with his underwear. 

“This is really happening,” Barry whispers, like he has to say it outloud to convince himself of it, and Harrison smiles against the sharp jut of Barry’s hip, turns his head to press his lips to the skin there. Then he frames Barry’s hips with his hands and guides him into his mouth and Barry lets out the most indecent sound Harrison’s ever heard, a combination of a gasp and a moan with his name brokenly mixed in there somewhere, his body shuddering beneath Harrison’s hands. 

“Oh god,” he says and keeps saying. “Oh my _god_.”

He tries to touch Harrison everywhere he can reach, his hair, his face, his mouth where it’s stretched around him, his neck, his throat, his shoulders. Barry’s tactile, needs to touch and to be touched, and Harrison knows just what he likes, what he needs. He squeezes Barry’s hips, digs his fingers into the bones. On a boy Barry’s size without his quick healing abilities it would probably leave bruises, but as it is the firm pressure and bite of his nails just makes Barry moan and his hips jerk, accidentally thrusting into Harrison’s mouth. 

“Oh god, sorry, I’m sorry,” Barry rambles, easing off and Harrison pulls off for a moment to look up at him, lick his lips. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “I enjoy it. Keep doing that.” And he puts his mouth back on him, curling his hands around Barry’s hips and encouraging him to fuck his mouth. 

“Holy shit,” Barry says, grabbing Harrison’s head with both hands. “You’re -- oh _god._ ”

Harrison relaxes his throat and Barry lets out a broken gasp and then, finally, he lets himself go, pulls Harrison onto his cock and just uses his mouth. Harrison’s jaw aches and his mouth feels raw and sore and bruised and he hasn’t felt this _alive_ in years, in decades, his body humming with the desire to take and take and give Barry everything he needs. Above him, Barry has stopped gasping out profanities and muttering words of awe, reduced only to the most basic, guttural noises that seem to come from deep within his very soul, moans that sound like pleas, whimpers that sound like gratitude. Then suddenly he shouts, his fingers tight in Harrison’s short hair, and comes with Harrison’s name on his lips, chanting his name again and again as he spills down his throat. 

Afterward, Barry kneels on the floor and lays his head in Harrison’s lap and Harrison, unsure what to do with his hands, begins to thread his fingers through Barry’s hair. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says softly, surprised to find that he’s almost afraid to know the answer. 

Barry hums against his thigh. “That I’d like to do that again.”

And Harrison knows that he shouldn’t, knows this is a dangerous, risky game he’s playing with Barry, knows that nothing good can come from it. He knows all of this just as he knows down to his very core, down to the marrow in his bones, that he doesn’t have it in him to ever tell this boy, this amazing boy made of laughter and lightning and life itself, no. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he tells Barry softly and hopes that he means it.


End file.
